


The Space Between

by lapetitesinge



Series: Darkship Prompt Meme [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Multi, OT3, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:25:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapetitesinge/pseuds/lapetitesinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonks didn't expect to fall for someone when she joined the Order, let alone two people--two people who had already fallen for each other. She soon figures out that love isn't always as simple as two halves fitting together. Sometimes it takes more than that to really have everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during OotP. Written for the Darkship Prompt Meme and posted at LJ.

_I want to reconcile the violence in your heart  
I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask_

When it came down to it, she had to admit she had always thought of them as one in her mind. Maybe it was because she had met them together, on the same night, or maybe it was because they were nearly always together. The fact that she was related to Sirius didn't seem to make a difference; they were just boys who were suddenly in her life, together, laughing, planning, working. Sometimes they almost acted like Fred and George, finishing each others' sentences and laughing at private jokes, and yet they were as different as could be. Maybe she had somehow known from the very start what she wanted, had somehow recognized that they both had what she wanted and made each other complete. In any case, it was never one or the other.

And of course, there was the immediacy of her knowledge of them, the immense  _weight_  of their presence; she found that she was practically living at Number 12, Grimmauld Place from very early on. She hadn’t enough money to get a place of her own yet and was still staying with her parents when she passed her Auror test, but after she joined the Order she found it was harder and harder to stay there; her parents were always fretting after her safety and asking hesitantly about her work, knowing she usually couldn’t tell them. Her mother especially seemed to take it hard; Tonks overheard her one night telling her father that she’d already lost two sisters to the other side and it just wasn’t fair to ask her to give up a daughter too, even if she was trying to do the right thing. She felt an awful mixture of defiance and guilt at their worry, and soon found it easier to stay at headquarters as much as possible. And somehow, despite everything, despite the increasingly frequent reports of Dark activity and the oppressive gloom of the place, somehow Number 12 started feeling a bit homey after a while. Familiar, anyway. After a few weeks the basement kitchen didn't feel unusually dark anymore, and she had gotten used to the lumpy feather bed in the spare bedroom where she was staying. She experienced another cold stab of guilt every time she thought about it too much, but she definitely felt a sense of excitement mingled with her fear: what they were doing wasn't  _fun_ , certainly, but there was definitely a rush in knowing they were fighting the good fight and making a difference. She couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and, yes, a bit of pride knowing that she was right in the thick of it, working alongside the elite and Dumbledore himself, not even a full year after qualifying. 

And despite the fact that nearly everyone else, both those who stayed in the house and those who went in and out, seemed to be in the same state of anxious disquiet, there was something nice about having everyone all in one place so often. Dinners may have been marred by dark discussions of rare, advanced curses and suspicious disappearances, but it was still comforting to have be all, or at least partially, together so often. She liked nearly everyone she met; none of  _them_  seemed to think she was too young, and she never got tired of hearing their stories of the old days. Some of them she knew already, like Hagrid, who remembered her fondly as "the one who let them Golden Snidgets loose in the Hufflepuff common room after the Quidditch final" (which was quite true), and McGonagall, who still made her as nervous as she'd done back in Transfiguration. Most people she was meeting for the first time, though; she liked the Weasleys right away; their huge, noisy, rambunctious family was the exact opposite of what she'd had as a kid as an only child, although Mr. Weasley, with his mild-mannered, kindly demeanor, made her miss her own father. And then, of course, there were Remus and Sirius.

Her first encounter with them had been rather affected by the circumstances, of course; she had met them about 24 hours after Voldemort had returned. Dumbledore had assembled the group with the kind of speed and ease that only he could manage, and he had contacted her personally, asking if she wouldn't mind coming along to the Hog's Head, please, that night at 8:00, as calmly and courteously as he might if he were inviting her along to a birthday party. Not yet knowing what had happened, she was nonetheless stunned to be contacted out of the blue by her former headmaster, and was exponentially more floored when she arrived at the pub and he had pulled her aside to gently explain exactly why she hadn't heard from Moody in all these months. He was all right, he assured her, and was even present with them that night—against Madam Pomfrey's advice, of course. She found up sitting in the corner of the back room (never put your back to a door, he always said) with a dozen other people, and although he greeted her with his usual growl of "All right there, Tonks?" as though nothing had happened, the sight of him looking so thin and wan shocked her. 

And then Dumbledore had proceeded to bring her cousin Sirius into the room and matter-of-factly inform the stunned and silent room that he was, in fact, innocent of the murders for which he had been so infamously imprisoned and would be joining them. And then he had explained that Voldemort had returned to his body, as witnessed by Harry Potter, and that they would need to reassemble and began to battle him once again. So all things considered, it was unsurprising that her memories of her first impressions of Remus and Sirius were somewhat vague. Sirius had come in with his hands in his pockets and his eyes downcast, so he hadn't seen the looks of shock on nearly everyone's face at his appearance, nor the half-dozen hands leaping instantly towards pockets. When Dumbledore got to the part in his explanation about Sirius being an Animagus and escaping Azkaban, though, he had lifted his chin a bit and surveyed the group, and Tonks was sure she saw him give a mischievous smile, as if enjoying the effect the story was having on everyone. Once Dumbledore finished with him, he sat down next to Remus, who reached over and gripped his shoulder, and the two of them shot each other small, covetous grins. 

Moody spoke after Dumbledore, telling them all about how Crouch had impersonated him and had been Kissed as soon as he was discovered. Everyone seemed to have a hundred questions for him, but he barked that "there'll be enough time for my tragic tell-all later, we've got work to do now, haven't we," and they began making plans at once, with Sirius offering his former childhood home for headquarters, as the pub wasn't exactly ideal. Tonks sat in silence, feeling thoroughly overwhelmed and intimidated, but as soon as the meeting broke up, Moody turned to her and said "well, now you know everything. What do you think?"

"What do I—?"

"About the plans, the Order, all of it," he said briskly. His magical eye was moving incessantly, inspecting everyone in the room; she supposed she couldn't blame him for being nervous. "I think you're ready. D'you want to join?"

"I—" It was just like him to do this, to ask her something so huge and meaningful and life-changing and expect an immediate reply. And it was just like her, in turn, to jump in headfirst. Maybe that was why they had always gotten on so well, she thought. "Yes," she said, and now both of his eyes were on her. "Yes. I want to join."

He had clapped her on the shoulder, just like Remus had done to Sirius, and given her the closest thing to a smile he ever gave, with a growl of "Good girl." Then he steered her over to meet Kingsley, making her blush as violently pink as her hair when he introduced her as "the best student I've had in twenty years," because she knew he wouldn't have said it unless he meant it entirely. Kingsley shook her hand and welcomed her soberly to the Order, and then fell into conversation with Moody, asking him all about what had happened with Crouch. Tonks very much wanted the details herself, but found her gaze straying across the table, to where Remus and Sirius sat deep in conversation with Hagrid and an old woman in what appeared to be a dressing gown, with Sirius gripping Remus' forearm, apparently unconsciously. She couldn't quite grasp the surreality of it—he, the famous criminal, the cousin she had never met, sitting casually not ten feet from her in a dingy pub. She had experienced a week or two of fame back in her first year of Hogwarts when people somehow found out that she was related to him, but other than that, she hadn't discussed him with anyone in years. Her mother had avoided talk of that whole side of her family, for the most part, but she couldn't help but be curious. And now, there he was, looking gaunt but energetic, his eyes sharp and alive, his dark hair hacked off carelessly at the neck. And she watched Remus as well, Sirius' opposite, neater, lighter, his voice softer.

Moody, whose magical eye was on Tonks again, saw where she was looking. "Ah, you'll want to be meeting him as well, I reckon," he said, breaking off his conversation with Kingsley. Before she could reply, he was taking her around the table, limping worse than ever, to where Sirius and the others were sitting. Sirius looked up and grinned. "Well, they just can't keep you down, can they, old man," he said. "In your  _trunk_? For a  _year_?" 

"Nine months," Moody snapped. "Which is a damn sight better than thirteen years, you mongrel." Hagrid's beard twitched, and Sirius gave a sharp  _ha!_  in response, conjuring up another chair at the same time.

"I suppose you've got me there. Go on, sit down, then. And who's this?" His eyes fell on Tonks, as did Remus', and he gave her a polite smile.

"This'd be our newest recruit, and your cousin," Moody informed him, sitting down again with a slight groan. "Thought you ought to meet finally."

"Cousin?" Sirius' face lit up. "Someone from my family fighting on  _this_  side? That's a bloody miracle." He considered her for a moment, and then realized. "Oh! You're Andromeda's girl, aren't you? Nymphadora."

"'Tonks,'" she corrected him, so quickly that he laughed again. "I mean—just—I go by 'Tonks.'"

"Fair enough," he chuckled. "Can't say as I blame you. Well, glad to see our entire family tree's not a bunch of Death Eater prats." His grip was cold, but surprisingly strong, when he shook her hand.

"As I believe Sirius would have you stand all night, please, sit down," Remus said, vacating his chair and pushing it over to her, seating himself on the table. "I'm Remus," he added, giving her the same small, warm smile as before. "Remus Lupin." His handshake was lighter, but warmer. Close to, she could see the gray in his hair and the lines near his eyes, which contrasted their boyish kindness.

And so it had gone from there. She had officially joined the Order that very night, with Dumbledore performing an initiation spell and touching his wand first to her head and then to her heart as a feeling like a sharp wind passed over her, and they'd all congratulated her; Remus had patted her on the back and told her that she was doing the right thing and that they'd all try to take care of her, and Sirius had shoved a pint of firewhiskey into her hand and cheerfully said "And now the fun really starts." From there they'd gone right to work: she was briefed on the "weapon," as they called it in company, and told that she would help by taking shifts at the Ministry to guard it. She found it a bit odd that no one else seemed to be bothered that they didn't actually know what it was they were guarding, but they all seemed to trust Dumbledore so implicitly that it didn't matter. Besides, as Moody pointed out in his usual comforting way, if she genuinely didn't know, then it couldn't be tortured out of her.

She was given night duty, for the most part, to begin with—"Newbies always get the crap spots," Sirius had told her, grinning. And at first, she had stayed at Number 12 just out of convenience—she tried to sleep during the day, but there was always something else interesting going on down in the basement kitchen, some new plans or whispered stories or job to be done, and she found she couldn't resist looking in. Her ability to disguise herself didn't hurt; she was often sent spying around the Ministry offices in all sorts of forms, and then as soon as she got back with her reports it was time to turn around and head back to guard duty. It was because of this, she suspected later, her harried schedule, almost perpetual fatigue and general anxiety about screwing up that prevented her from noticing at first. She had been in the Order for nearly two months and living almost full-time in the house for a week before, one morning, the morning of Harry's hearing, she returned from guard duty and was slumped over the pot of coffee on the table when Sirius came strolling into the kitchen, pulling a shirt down over his tattooed and still-gaunt chest, with Remus entering behind him. "Something smells good, Molly," Remus said to Mrs. Weasley, who was standing over the stove. "May I help?"

"Rough night, cuz?" Sirius asked, dropping into the chair besides Tonks' and helping himself to some coffee as Remus busied himself over the counter. "You're looking a bit vampiric there."

"Thanks a lot," she told him as Remus shot him a quelling look, although she couldn't help but chuckle. And she told him all about her close call with a security wizard and how she'd had to pretend to be a high-ranking Ministry official coming in early to get a bit of work done, quickly transforming her hair to a white pompadour of sorts, and he'd laughed heartily and she hadn't even really noticed how they'd come downstairs together. A week later, they had been sitting around after a late dinner and Sirius had been regaling them all with tales of his adventures with his friends at Hogwarts and the time they magicked all of Rosmerta's tables and chairs onto the ceiling of the Three Broomsticks.

"I'll thank you not to give these two any ideas," Mrs. Weasley said sternly to Sirius as Fred and George rolled around in their seats, howling with laughter, although she too seemed to be fighting back a slight smile. "As if they don't get up to enough nonsense as it is."

"Ah, you're not seeing the bright side, Molly," Sirius said cheerfully. "That was the week we learned about Permanent Sticking Charms. We were just trying to put it to practical use, see? Bit of independent homework."

"And the fact that Rosmerta got everything down the next day and then came after you and James and jinxed your fingers together is proof of a job well done," Remus said dryly, giving Sirius a quick smirk, and the twins roared with renewed laughter. Sirius feigned an offended expression.

"I remember that," Hagrid chuckled from across the table, one of his enormous hands resting on Crookshanks, who was perched on his knee. "She jus' did a  _Finite Incantatum_  and made everything go crashin' to the ground. I was havin' a lie-in upstairs and I though' the ruddy roof was cavin' in. Half the inn came flyin' downstairs with their wands out, thinkin' we was under attack."

"Well, perhaps we've should've had  _you_  do it then, Head-Boy Moony," Sirius said, only slightly mockingly. "You would've done a much better job. Except you would've left a note with it." He put on an anxious expression and mimed writing. "'So dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience, madame, hope we haven't put you out. Ever your humble servant, the gallant Sir Remus the Bashful.'"

Even Kingsley laughed at that one. "Yeah, yeah, all right," Remus said, grinning embarrassedly and blushing slightly. "Someone had to have a touch of chivalry to keep you layabouts in line. Or attempt to, anyway." Sirius smiled—not his usual wicked grin, but a warm, content smile, and reached across the edge of the table to brush a lock of hair from Remus' face. It was such a natural, thoughtless gesture that Tonks almost didn't register it for a moment.

Just then, Fred and George, still chortling, both stifled yawns, and Tonks glanced automatically at her watch, surprised at how late it was. "We ought to be on our way soon," Kingsley said to her, consulting his watch as well; he had to meet the Muggle Prime Minister for a late night meeting and said he would escort Tonks to her post on the way.

"The rest of you ought to head up to bed as well, we've lots to do tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley said, ever in mother mode. Fred and George grumbled a bit, but headed off after dutifully kissing their mother's cheek and bidding the rest of them good night, no doubt headed off to continue with their mail-order business (Tonks had ordered a boxful of the Fainting Fancies, figuring they might come in handy the next time she ran into someone she didn't want to see during guard duty).

"'Spose we should be off too, then," Sirius said, getting to his feet and stretching. Remus stood as well, and with a wave to the rest of the kitchen, they headed through the door and up the stairs. As Tonks swung her cloak over her shoulders, they heard another burst of laughter from the two of them overhead. Kingsley shook his head with a fond smile.

"Those two," he said. "Just like old times. I imagine they're happy as can be, living together again." Something about the way he said it made Tonks pause.

"Again?" she asked, turning to him. "What, you mean as well as at school?"

Kingsley looked at her, and then shot a glance over her head at Hagrid, who cleared his throat in what might have been a meaningful way. "Well—well, yes, school," Kingsley said to her. "And then after that, for a time—this was the last time He Who Must Not Be Named was in power, of course, and Dumbledore wanted all of the Order close by..." He fidgeted with the fastenings on his cloak for a moment, and Tonks was astonished to realize that he was nervous. She'd never seen him the least bit unsure before, and it seemed that he felt that he'd said something he shouldn't have. No one else said anything, and they'd headed off to their respective positions and that had been the end of it, but she'd had long hours hidden alone at the Ministry to mull it over. 

They certainly posed an interesting contrast to one another. Sirius was all swagger and winks, forever teasing her about her hair, about being the youngest Order member, about passing her Auror test. And he was forever trying to make her laugh, usually with good results, telling her stories about his school days or doing impressions of Moody teaching a ballet class. At first she thought he was just being older-cousinly—having never grown up with brothers and knowing very little of her extended family, she figured it was all par for the course—but over time it seemed to go beyond that. He'd put his hand on the small of her back when he passed by her in the narrow kitchen and let it linger there for a second, or he'd tell her he'd be no good on guard duty with her anyway because she'd be too distracting. It all seemed like harmless good fun, but sometimes she'd catch him looking at her at dinner for a good few seconds after she stopped speaking, his dark eyes roving over her face and then down, and it made her feel warm all over. She'd had plenty of boys look at her before over the years because she was forever changing her look--there was something for everyone, as one of her friends had once said, and she'd certainly fooled around with a few would-be suitors in useful dark corners of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But they never lasted—inevitably they'd start asking her to assume a different hair color or a certain look "just for a second, c'mon, just for me," and she'd lose interest. With Sirius, however, that didn't seem to matter. He'd tease her about her more outrageous looks, but he'd give her those piercing, lingering looks no matter what she looked like that day. He seemed to look beyond it, right through her, and it was unnerving and exciting.

Remus, of course, was quite the opposite—he really was bashful most of the time, pulling out chairs for her and inquiring politely after her experiences on duty and if she was doing all right being in the Order and so forth. He never gave advice unless she asked for it, but when he did, he was endlessly informative and could remember the most remarkable details about both current news and the past, meaning that he came up with really rather astute observations about the Death Eaters' habits and probable next moves. "Blimey, you must have made one hell of a teacher," she'd blurted out one day after he'd told her all about the invention, growth and eventual decline of the Tarantallegra jinx as they helped Molly with dinner. "They must've been right sorry to see you go. I mean—" She cringed, immediately assuming she'd said the wrong thing. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like—"

"That's quite all right," he told her, and she was relieved to see that he looked rather pleased, if also a bit pink in the face. "I—well, I certainly very much enjoyed my year there. Besides, I knew it was never going to be anything longer than that, not in that position."

"Is it really jinxed?" she asked, setting a knife to slicing up a loaf of bread. "That's what everyone always said." 

"Seems to be," he said lightly, waving his wand so that a large bowl of peas began shelling themselves. "Dumbledore's never explicitly said, but he also doesn't promise more than a year at a go." He gave a wry smile. "And often what Dumbledore  _doesn't_  say says a lot more than what he does."

"Hmm." Tonks watched him for a moment, and then leaned forward, lowering her voice and checking that Molly was still deep in conversation with Hestia across the room. "D'you ever think—I mean, has he always...doesn't it seem that he knows a lot more than he's telling? About what's going on with You-Know-Who and what he's planning, and everything?" It had been troubling her for some time and he seemed the best person to ask, somehow; he seemed the most likely to understand and give her a straight answer. He considered her for a moment, and then nodded slightly.

"Well, you're not the first person to have made that observation," he told her, also quietly. "He's rather known for playing things close to the vest, even amongst us. Some feel it's a sign of distrust. But..." He lifted a shoulder and let it drop slowly. "I think it's more a matter of safety. He likes to wait to reveal things until the right moment, when he's had time to think things through and come up with the best plans. He doesn't want to seem uncertain or give us half-truths or rumors that could put us in danger, so he waits. I believe he likes to wait until things are sure. Or at least as sure as they can be. Some people prefer a more participatory style of leadership, but..." He shrugged again, popping a bean into his mouth. "He's never led us astray so far."

"'Sure,'" she repeated softly, thinking it over. It was a strange concept to apply to all their spying and secrets and underground resistance, but it was comforting at the same time. It was startling to think that however frightening and mysterious things seemed for the Order, at least they had an idea of what was happening; they were actually way ahead of the rest of the wizarding world. "Must be lonely," she said abruptly. Remus looked at her. "For Dumbledore. Being in charge and knowing everything—well, most everything. I mean, if he really knows as much as everyone says he does about what the Death Eaters are doing and about what You-Know-Who's after...it's just..." She struggled to find the words. "He's been doing this for so long, right? It just seems like a lot for one person to take in. A lot to...keep inside. Seems lonely, or something," she finished, blushing, knowing it sounded foolish.

Remus didn't seem to think so, though. He just gave her another long look, and then smiled gently. "That's quite a fair point," he said. "He's always had admirers and students and loyal friends around him, but I've always felt he was a rather solitary person." He dropped his gaze for a moment. "And that...can be challenging."

"Do you think he's ever been in—oh,  _shit_ ," Tonks gasped, dropping her wand. Caught up in their conversation, she had quite forgotten what she was doing, and the knife, having finished slicing the bread, fell out of the air and onto the back of her hand, cutting open a few inches of skin. "God. Well, that was graceful."

"Let me see," Remus said calmly, quickly setting aside the bowl and reaching for her hand. And though she could have easily mended it herself, she slipped her fingers into his without a second thought. "Not to worry." He picked up his own wand again and waved it swiftly over her skin without a word aloud, and the cut healed itself, her skin knitting back together. "Good as new," he said with a warm smile.

"Thanks," she replied, returning his smile and adding ruefully "Funny, that seems to be the only charm I ever use in the kitchen." He chuckled.

"That's not true, you made some excellent toast the other day. I thought the charcoal flavor added character."

"Very funny," she smirked. "Big talk from someone who still uses tea bags." He laughed again, his eyes twinkling. And after a moment, she realized he was still holding her hand. She looked down at their woven fingers, his slim wrists and bitten-down nails, and then back into his face. His gaze stayed on her eyes for a moment, and then dropped a few inches to her lips, and she knew that he wanted to kiss her. For a moment nothing happened; neither of them moved, and she was only faintly aware of the sounds in the kitchen and voices moving about the house, until overheard they heard the front door burst open far too noisily. Mrs. Black's portrait began screaming and they heard Mundungus swearing and apologizing, and she and Remus sprang apart. He looked distinctly flushed in the cheeks again as he moved over to the stove and brought Molly the peas. At dinner, Tonks sat next to Hermione and discussed Arithmancy, and when Remus passed a boysenberry pie down the table after the meal was over, he caught her eye for only the briefest second.

And from that evening on, something was there. She couldn't tell if it had been there all along and she'd only just noticed or if it had only just sprung to life, but there it was, humming in the air between them whenever they were together, warm and magnetic. She wanted to be near him whenever she saw him; even if she had nothing to say, she just wanted to see him smile at her, to know that she was entirely in his mind for that moment. Her stomach ached when he was gone too long; she hated not knowing if he was safe. She'd never felt that way for anyone before, that sort of vigilantly warm ache—but then again, she had never lived through a war before, when nothing was familiar. Nearly everything in her life was new—new people, a new home, sort of, new work for the Order, new feelings—and she often couldn't work out what was being affected by what. Was it just fear of the circumstances that were making her reach out for an anchor, for someone new and more, someone gentle and comforting, or was it something else? And if that was true, why did she find herself drawn to Sirius as well? 

She didn't feel the same effortless, natural pull towards him, like the nudge of the sea tide, that she did for Remus. It was something sharper and bolder, something more...dangerous. He wasn't an anchor in the midst of uncertainty and gloom, he was a thunderstorm that made everything  _more_  exciting and unpredictable. And the more time she spent in Number 12, especially after the kids left for Hogwarts and the other Weasleys returned to the Burrow and the house was quieter, the more he became simply a sexual fact: his lingering looks at her and light touches only increased as time went on, and she found herself more and more intrigued every time. No words on the subject passed between them, but it seemed to be understood; he smirked at her as he passed her in the hall after a shower with only a towel around his waist, his dark hair dripping silvery beads over his shoulders, and she found herself grinning back, knowing he was toying with her and liking it. And then he'd slip into his bedroom, giving her only the briefest glimpse as he removed the towel and shut the door, and she'd hear their low voices, his laughter. He seemed to be handing her the reins, laying out it all out and letting her choose. That was the thing about him; he was aggressive and bold and made his desires known, and yet he didn't seem to need to take anything. Everyone came to him. They were just drawn.

And that included Remus, of course. She understood now, without really knowing many solid facts, what there was between them. No one seemed to talk about it, but they didn't really seem to hide it, either. They sat close, always, forever whispering and laughing together, and oftentimes their hands would drift almost absentmindedly towards the other; on the knee, on the shoulder. Whenever Remus was there, they were together, and when he wasn't, there was a change in Sirius—a subtle one, to be sure, but obvious once you looked for it: he laughed less, and his smile wasn't as quick. Tonks recognized it with no trouble; it was exactly the way she felt for Remus too. It wasn't that everything stopped when he wasn't there—hardly, because they had so much to do—but there was a space, a noticeable absence in everything that made her uneasy. Everything just felt a little more right when he was there, but it was even better when they were together, Remus and Sirius. They were happiest when they were together, the most  _themselves_ , it seemed, and eventually she realized that they belonged together, rather literally; they were complementary, two halves of a whole that seemed off-balance without the other. And seeing their touches, their laughter, their low murmured words and looks, somehow it didn't make her jealous, not in the sense of wanting that from which she was pushed away. It just pulled her closer and further down under; she wanted to be within that thing between them, in the fire of their light and dark. It was never a matter of choosing one, because there  _wasn't_  one without the other, and together they were everything.

And after a while, the only question left to her was how she fit. She could tell what they both felt for her, as well as each other, and she knew what she felt for them, but soon knowing and touching and glancing weren't enough. She wanted more, but how? She didn't know how to ask; she didn't know how it worked when when the person you wanted was actually two. She couldn't say it because there weren't words; it was beyond that. And under that, she was afraid, too: what would they say? What if she'd misread things? Instinct could only go so far; there was no manual for how three fit into one. The push and pull was different from just two; everyone brought something different and took something else, and it seemed to be too much. Were they one who needed another, or would she disturb their perfect balance? She didn’t know, but she still wanted. It was a conversation with Fleur, of all people, that made her understand: one night just after the new year she returned late from guard duty and nipped into the kitchen for a quick snack before bed and found Fleur and Bill there, with Bill sitting on one of the chairs with Fleur on his lap, her legs twined around him and her hands in his hair as he kissed her hungrily, his hands roving under her nightshirt. They jumped as Tonks came banging into the room, and Fleur nearly fell off in surprise. "Oh, God," Tonks exclaimed, taking half a step back into the doorway. "Sorry, I didn't know you—I thought...sorry."

"'S all right," Bill said, as Fleur gathered herself and got up. Standing too, he gave Tonks a shifty grin. "Sorry we startled you there." He turned back to Fleur and murmured "Let's go upstairs, eh?"

"I'll meet you in a minute," she murmured, her hand gliding against his side. "I just want to put these things away." She nodded at the table, where various newspaper and sheafs of parchment were spread out. He nodded and headed for the door, giving Tonks another quick, pleased-embarrassed grin as he went. Left alone with Fleur, Tonks felt distinctly awkward—she didn't know her that well; they had only met once last summer and then seen her at a few dinners over the months. She had also stopped by the house right around Christmas when Mr. Weasley had been hurt to check on the family, but Tonks still hadn't talked to her much. She hadn’t even officially known about her and Bill, although she had seen the looks passing between them—the same looks, she realized, that passed between Remus and Sirius. She rather wanted to leave the kitchen now, but not wanting it to seem like she'd barged in without reason, headed over to the cupboards and started looking for the tin of biscuits. "So," she said vaguely, into the silence. "Things going well between you two, eh?" She glanced over her shoulder to see Fleur smiling demurely, sweeping her long blonde hair over one shoulder with a casual gesture; even dressed in her nightclothes, she was still stunning.

"Oh, yes," Fleur said happily, as she retrieved her wand from the table. She gave it a wave, and the debris on the table began shuffling itself into piles. "Yes, it is all very, very nice." Seeing Tonks glance back at the table, she added "We are working on some plans for the Order—we are thinking that the Death Eaters are using the vaults at Gringotts for hiding Dark objects—but then we are getting a little distracted." Her gaze flickered in the direction of chair they had just been occupying, and she flushed pleasurably again. Tonks smiled slightly.

"So how long have you been...?"

"Not so very long," she said, now pushing in the chair. "But I think I am knowing the first time I meet him, in the summer of last year." She looked down at her hands on the back of the chair, but her mind was clearly elsewhere, the fond memory curving her mouth in another pleased smile. "Sometimes it does not take very long, no? Sometimes you just know, and there is no reason to ignore what you know if it will make you happy." She looked up and raised her eyebrows at Tonks. "Do you think?"

"Yes," she replied without thinking. "Well—yes, but sometimes it’s a bit hard to...you know, trust yourself." She turned around and began rummaging in the cupboard again, although she couldn’t quite remember what she was supposed to be looking for. "It’s just—I don’t know, it’s hard to tell when it’s a sure thing or just an...inkling. And that makes it hard to know what to...do." She turned back around and saw Fleur watching her, almost expectantly. "For me, that is. If  _you_  know for sure, that’s great. Bill’s great," she added, feeling increasingly awkward. 

"Yes, he is," Fleur agreed. She tilted her head slightly, still observing Tonks. "And you? You are having an—inkling, as you say? About someone?" She nodded at the table, implying the Order.

"I—well—I..." Tonks spluttered, thrown. It was one thing to try and sort out everything she was feeling internally; the idea that it was noticeable from the outside was alarming. "I...well, yes, you could say that there's someone," she said, although of course that wasn't precisely the word. "But I'm not sure if...if things can work out the way I want them to."

"Is he having these feelings for you as well?"

"Erm," Tonks said, with a quick, nervous smile. She almost wanted to laugh: she wasn’t sure which one Fleur meant, or if she actually understood even more. "I think so. Yeah. Maybe." She folded her arms protectively across herself and leaned against the counter, the biscuits quite forgotten. "But there are...it's kind of complicated. I don't really know where to start, exactly."

"If you care for him, and he is caring for you as well, that is all there is," Fleur said simply, with surprising gentleness. She began to gather up the pages on the table, shuffling them into random piles. "Now that I am here, doing this work because of what is happening...it makes me see how fast things sometimes happen." She glanced almost involuntarily at the head of the table, and Tonks did the same, knowing that they were both thinking of Mr. Weasley, who had sat there just a few hours ago, laughing with his family and celebrating his return home after very nearly dying. "And now I am thinking there is no reason to wait, or to doubt. We must try for the things we want now, or..." She let the sentence hang, and then flashed a quick smile, as if to defuse the morbidity of the idea. "I think perhaps you should tell him. Everyone says that sadness is sure for us now, so I think we should make our happiness sure too."

Tonks just looked at her, at her smile, glowing with happiness over Bill. It wasn't the same at all, with Bill and with Remus and Sirius; there were too many loose factors and complications—but somehow, the simplicity of it was just what she had been looking for. Maybe there wasn't time to wait around and wonder; maybe it was just about taking what was in front of her and holding onto it. "Maybe you're right," she said aloud to Fleur. "I...maybe I will."

"Good," Fleur said with a contented smile. "That’s good." She waved her wand again, and the stacks of papers on the table vanished. "I must go," she said, turning for the door. " _Bonne chance_ ," she added with a wink. Tonks, still leaning against the counter, nodded and gave her a quick smile in return. The door swung closed behind her, and Tonks was left standing alone in the dimly-lit room, thinking. Life  _was_  unpredictable, and they were in a war. That boy at Hogwarts had died, murdered for no reason while playing a game. And whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, things were likely to get worse before they got better. Even without the weapon, whatever it was, Voldemort was sure to keep gaining power, especially since most people weren’t bothering to protect themselves, as they didn’t know or believe that he was back. It didn’t quite make sense, the three of them, but what did? And did it matter?

And so the next night, after a lengthy dinner conversation about the most effective snake-repelling charms, Tonks watched Remus and Sirius closely as they talked. Sirius had been in something of a funk since the kids had gone back to school; he seemed to like having as many people as possible under one roof, all grouped together and carrying on. She understood: it made the place less of an austere headquarters and more of a home. The more alone he was, the more he seemed to focus on how little he could do to help. And Snape’s visits certainly weren’t helping. Remus, in turn, was acting all the more solicitous of him, and it stirred something in Tonks to watch them at the table, to see their bond and his hand resting on the back of Sirius’ neck. None of them could have everything they wanted, she realized: Sirius couldn’t have his freedom, nor could he have Harry around all the time. Remus couldn’t teach any longer, nor could he have his freedom, in a sense. And she couldn’t have her old life back, the time before the war began and everything was easier and made more sense—but they could have each other. 

So after a while, as the dinner broke up and people began to drift out of the kitchen, she watched as Remus and Sirius went upstairs together. After a few minutes she left the basement as well and slowly climbed the stairs to the upper levels of the house, taking in its silence and oppressive gloom. She caught sight of herself in a dingy hallway mirror and stopped for a moment, considering: she had been experimenting with glossy black waves for the past couple of days, but they wouldn’t do for this. For this, she had to be entirely herself, her truest self; it wouldn’t have been right any other way. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, her hair was short and spiky and pink, her favorite. 

She climbed the stairs quietly until she reached the top floor, and crossed the landing to Sirius’ bedroom. The door was closed, and she couldn’t hear anything from within. She placed her hand on the doorknob, and after steadying herself with a slow breath, turned it and opened the door. They were both lying on the bed, with Remus on his back and Sirius curled on his side against him, kissing his neck as his hand roved against the front of his jeans, undoing the button. Remus gripped Sirius’ hair, his other hand curled around his upper arm, his eyes closed. They flew open at the sound of the door, however, and he gave a gasp of surprise as Sirius looked around in mild interest.

"Tonks! What—what are you doing here?" Remus stammered, pushing himself halfway into a sitting position, although Sirius barely moved. "You—that is, we—"

"Don’t have a coronary, Moony," Sirius said lazily, flashing a knowing grin that made her legs tremble. "It’s not like she didn’t know. Eh, cuz?" he shot at her. Instead of answering, she merely closed the door behind her, quietly, and moved across to the bed. She hadn’t planned out what she was going to do or say, but once she was there, it came easily. She looked into Remus’ face, lined with confusion and something like fear, and then she leaned down and kissed him, her hand lightly brushing his cheek. And after a moment, he kissed her back, leaning into her touch, his lips dry and soft. After a moment, they broke apart, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Sirius watching them with interest. 

"I don’t think anything’s sure," she said after a second, her voice steady and soft, as though their conversation in the kitchen had been only a moment before. "So we might as well just make it up as we go."

"Well said," Sirius replied, his voice a soft, amused growl. She turned to look at him, and he looked back hungrily, and she thought he knew exactly why she was there, had been expecting it for weeks. She leaned over and kissed him as well, and he responded in kind, tasting saltier than Remus, his rough chin scraping hers. He reached out and slid his arm around her waist, pulling her fully onto the bed, so that Remus was between them, and Sirius slid a leg over theirs. For a moment, they all looked at one another, not needing to say it out loud. Then Sirius gave Remus another deep kiss, and his hands slid across him back to Tonks, where he lifted her sweater up over her stomach and her chest, and she pulled it over her head and cast it onto the floor as Sirius resumed undoing Remus’ belt. Remus gazed at her for a moment, taking her in, something she hadn’t seen before blazing in his eyes, and he kissed her, harder this time, his hand cradling her face, then down over her neck, her shoulder, her back, where he undid her bra clasp with admirable dexterity. He pulled her on top of him and then over across to his other side, so now she lay between them, and Sirius gave a low, murmuring laugh. "Newbies always get the best spots," he whispered in her ear, and she grinned, turning to him and beginning to unbutton his shirt, pressing his lips to his faded tattoos on his chest as she went, as Remus kissed his way down her side and slid a hand down the front of her jeans. 

It was easy, now that they were here, to know how it went; all at once, she knew how she fit. Soon the rest of their clothes were gone and all she could feel was warmth from all sides, moving hands and breaths and scars. They were the same one, really, and now she was too. She was pleased to realize that they were in bed just as they were everywhere else: Remus wanted to be the one to please everyone; he turned his neck to kiss Sirius’ mouth as as knelt behind him, his chest against Remus’ back, holding his hips with both hands and pushing into him with languid movements, causing his dark hair to fall into his face. Remus leaned down slowly over Tonks and kissed down her stomach, both hands kneading her waist, and then moved his mouth down to her clit, his hands sliding to lay flat on her stomach, feeling her shudder, raising his eyes to watch her expression, moving his tongue until she gasped, teaching him just what she liked. Sirius leaned down too, arching across Remus’ back, grinning at her over his shoulder. He liked to watch almost as much as he liked to participate, and he liked to direct the action. "Pull his hair," he said in a low voice as Tonks reached down and tangled her fingers in Remus’ light brown waves. "And put your fingers inside her too. She’ll like that," he added, his mouth right against Remus’ ear. And she learned that she liked it best when she could barely tell who was who, when the hands on her thighs weren’t connected to the lips on her neck; when she held Remus’ cock in one hand and kept the other braced against Sirius’ chest as she rolled her hips on top of him, watching them, their eyes meeting; the same smile on both of their faces. She liked it when she lay back and closed her eyes and stopped wondering who was who. She loved to be between them, connecting them and holding them all together.

Afterward, they lay there, limbs entwined, sharing slow breaths, not saying much. She shifts toward the edge of the bed, wondering if she should go—they shared the room, after all, and she had her own—but moving in almost perfect unison, they both reached out and put their hands on her, pulling her back between them, with Sirius securing his arm around her waist and Remus nuzzling his face against her neck from behind. The message was clear; she was with them now, one of them. They had made room for her because she wanted it, and because she had something to give as well. That was all that was left.

  


***

  


They have six months together. Six fractured and perfect months, and then he’s gone, and they are left behind. And for a time, they fall apart. Not because there’s nothing between them, but because they are both broken; they all held each other together and now there was a space torn in the air between them and being together only reminds them of what they’ve both lost. Despite what they still feel for each other, they both feel incomplete, like they can’t be enough for the other anymore.

But after a while, they realize that  _enough_  is not the same as  _complete_ , and they return, falling back together in their imperfection, knowing that you have to find home where you can, that you can’t let  _good_  go by while you’re waiting for  _sure._  Sometimes it was just a matter of taking what was there and what felt right, if that was what it took to keep from being alone, even when you knew it couldn’t last.


End file.
